


Calligraphy Lessons

by littlealex



Category: Arashi (Band), Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-28
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlealex/pseuds/littlealex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You got calligraphy ink <i>where</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calligraphy Lessons

Failing at things on national television was not usually a source of concern for Sakurai Sho. He was used to it after more than five years of taking part in ridiculous experiments and pointless competitions, but this time he couldn't shake the disappointed feeling. The worst part of it was, though, that the feeling was completely unfounded. It's not as though he'd done as badly as Matsujun - who was ranked as a calligrapher and then butchered their poor band name - and he'd actually made considerable progress through the course of the show, but there was a part of him that felt as though he should have done better.

Maybe it was _Yamada Taro Monogatari_ 's fault. All the flower arranging had made him wistful for Japanese traditions he didn't practice. Traditions were romantic and meaningful and meant something far larger and more important than himself, and he wished - as everyone does at times - that he could connect to that bygone era. Of course, a week or two after filming ended, he'd forgotten these feelings entirely, possessed once again by the shallows of modern society and popular culture of which he was both producer and consumer.

Until the calligraphy episode of _Golden Rush Arashi_ , when his failings reminding him he could never be a representative of traditional Japanese culture.

"Hey, Sho, what's the matter?" It was a couple of days after the episode had been filmed, and Aiba had invited him over to his apartment for lunch. It was rare of Aiba to invite him over for meals - if only because he wasn't a very good cook and they both appreciated a meal out much more - but Sho had happily taken the opportunity, his day off frustrating rather than settling him.

"Nothing," Sho mumbled in reply, but he realized as he spoke that he had been pushing the same piece of pork around his bowl for the last ten minutes. He looked up at Aiba and couldn't help but smile at the look of concern on his face. "No, really, Aiba, it's nothing to worry about."

Aiba looked unconvinced and topped up Sho's glass of beer. "Then what is it? If it's nothing to worry about, you can tell me easily, right?" Aiba's logic was infallible, as always, and Sho laughed a little as he reached for his drink.

"This is going to sound really stupid," he said, looking at Aiba as he paused for a sip. Aiba's look said 'do you remember who you're talking to?' and Sho choked back a laugh as he swallowed his beer. "Okay, well. You remember the calligraphy episode? And how badly I did?"

"You didn't -" Sho stopped Aiba from protesting by holding up a finger and continuing.

"I did terribly. And I was really disappointed with myself. I wanted to do better. I want to be able to do those things better; they make me feel... like I know where I come from, you know what I mean?"

Aiba actually looked sympathetic and contemplative, and he nodded at the question. "Yes, I understand that feeling. I get it all the time."

That was not, exactly, what Sho had expected Aiba to say. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course. My parents sent me to calligraphy lessons for a few years when I was in elementary school, and I guess I never really got it out of my system. Every now and then, I just have to get out my brushes and ink and write out ancient poems, you know?"

Sho blinked. No, he didn't really know, and hadn't expected this from Aiba at all. He'd never heard of Aiba taking calligraphy lessons as a child, nor did he know he still practiced - with poetry, no less - and they had known each other _how many_ years? He'd thought he knew everything about Aiba; they were practically dating, and had talked about everything else under the sun, so how was this a surprise?

"Uh, well. I-" Sho stammered, and it was Aiba's turn to look confused. "I didn't know."

"That's probably because I never told you," Aiba said with a laugh, leaning back onto his knees. "Would you like me to give you a lesson? I'm way better than that Yamane-sensei." Sho spied something cheeky behind Aiba's grinning expression, but decided to ignore it in favor of agreeing.

Setting up didn't take long with the two of them working at it: Sho cleared a space on the living room floor where they had been eating lunch while Aiba rummaged in the top of his wardrobe for his calligraphy supplies. They lay newspaper down on the floor to start with (Sho had to sacrifice one of his unread copies), then some large sheets of calligraphy paper with grids on them, and a space for brushes and ink to the side.

"Want to test the theory and put some earwax in the ink?" Aiba asked with a grin as he pulled out some brushes.

"Doesn't it only work if you're making ink properly?" Sho pointed out as Aiba got the bottle of premixed ink and squirted it into a little bowl.

Aiba rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Jun_ , thank you for taking the joke seriously," he said, and Sho reacted very maturely and stuck his tongue out. "At least I didn't ask you to put your nipples in there."

Sho grinned; at least that hopelessness had just been for entertainment. "I don't know," he answered, wiggling his eyebrows. "It could be sexy."

"Black nipples are not sexy, Sho. Not even on you," Aiba replied, though there was still a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

The lesson started simply, with Aiba showing him the proper way to sit and hold the brush. That didn't require much practice, though Aiba asked him to feign writing strokes in the air and corrected the angle of his brush about ten times before Sho understood the concept of 'perpendicular to the paper'. Then, Aiba showed him how to coat the brush in ink and asked him to practice his horizontal stroke.

Even though Sho thought it was a bit pointless - seeing as the horizontal stroke was not only the easiest stroke he'd ever done, but he also wasn't that bad at it - he decided to give it a go in the interests of being culturally enlightened and getting in touch with his traditional side. Aiba was just the right mixture of encouraging and criticizing, but after the tenth excruciatingly slow stroke, Sho started to get a bit impatient.

"Come on, I know how to do a horizontal stroke, Aiba." Sho complained, shifting the brush between his fingers and massaging out a cramp in his palm, slouching from his perfect posture.

Aiba ran his hand firmly up Sho's spine from its base, shifting a little closer. The pressure of the touch easily convinced Sho to straighten his back again (though it could have been the shiver that ran along his vertebrae), and look over to see an unexpectedly serious expression on Aiba's face.

"You've got to get the basics right," Aiba said, surveying the practice strokes and then turning his attention back to Sho. His eyes were surprisingly dark, usually a sign of arousal, and Sho didn't react for a moment, holding Aiba's gaze before he gave into his curiosity and glanced down at the other boy's lap.

Okay, so that _was_ the dark-eyed look of arousal.

Confused, but somehow not that surprised (Aiba had been known to get aroused at the strangest things, though Sho hadn't expected this to be one of them), Sho just caught Aiba's eyes again and swallowed. "Aiba.... Really? Calligraphy?"

Aiba didn't answer vocally, just leaned in and pressed a heated kiss to Sho's mouth, one hand reaching up to press over his cheek. Sho was caught off-guard, unprepared for anything remotely involving kissing, and he hesitated a moment, unsure how to react. Hesitation, however, was always a bad idea around Aiba when he knew what he wanted, because he would usually just take it. True to form, Aiba took the opportunity and dragged Sho out of his perfect sitting position with a strong hand at the base of his spine, deepening the kiss in one fluid movement.

Sho was about to respond in kind (there seemed no point in fighting it) when Aiba moved his thumb over Sho's jaw, leaving a strangely cool feeling on the curve of his skin. "Aiba," Sho mumbled into the kiss, trying to pull away, "I think you've got ink on your-" But he was cut off by Aiba's insistent kissing, which wasn't really something he could ignore (he'd tried, once, with pathetic results), and gave in.

It took a moment for Sho to switch gears from serious concentration on his horizontal stroke to the sort of mindless touching and kissing he usually engaged Aiba in, but he was convinced with a very skilled pair of hands. Aiba's fingers skittered down his neck and over his collarbones, running the length of his torso and by the time there was the electric shock of skin on skin, Sho had effectively forgotten about calligraphy at all.

Which was awkward, because he reached up and wrapped his hand around the back of Aiba's neck having forgotten the inked brush still between his fingers. Aiba pulled back with a gasp as the bristles grazed his neck, eyes wide as he looked at Sho and then the brush.

"Sorry," Sho mumbled, using the opportunity to take a breath, but Aiba just giggled and didn't seem annoyed at all. Sho moved to put the brush out of the way so that nobody would get covered in ink, but before Sho knew what was going on, Aiba snatched it away and painted an exquisite but ticklish sweeping right stroke across his collarbones.

"Aiba!" Sho squirmed away, fingers pressing over the wet mark and only serving to spread the ink instead of stop it from getting anywhere.

"Ticklish, Sho?" Aiba grinned, and the same cheeky glint from before mixed with the dark arousal that was still there, a look that only Aiba could pull off. Sho didn't quite know whether to laugh, pout, or wrestle the brush out of the way so that there could be more kissing and less messing around.

While Sho was trying to decide the best course of action, Aiba reached in and flicked off a rising stroke on the side of Sho's neck. That made the decision for him, and Sho just lunged forward and pushed Aiba back onto the living room floor, straddling his waist and holding down his arms by his wrists.

"That is not fair, Aiba," Sho growled, his voice stripped of any vitriol but full of purpose. "You're not allowed to just _mark_ me as you like."

Aiba just grinned beneath Sho, rolling his hips exaggeratedly. That _also_ wasn't very fair. "What do you have against brushes, Sho?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. "You don't seem to mind when I make a mark with my mouth." Another quick movement and Aiba moved up to press his lips to a patch of exposed skin on Sho's collarbones. Sho cursed himself for leaving so many shirt buttons undone, but the thought quickly left him as Aiba began to tease the skin with teeth and tongue.

"No ink," Sho mumbled as he closed his eyes against the sensation, trying not to let his guard down too much. "No brushes." Aiba laid his tongue flat against the spot, inching his tongue down the line of Sho's collarbones, avoiding the inky line he'd drawn and trailing down as far as Sho's shirt would allow. "This is okay, though." With that, Aiba leaned back against the floor, forcing Sho's eyes to snap open at the absence, only to see the same cheeky grin on Aiba's face.

"Okay. No ink, no brushes. I'll put it away, and then... then I think I'll unbutton the rest of those buttons for you," Aiba said, his voice deeper now as he glanced at the buttons in question, "licking a hot, wet path down your chest, all the way down to your belly-button," his eyes trailed down Sho's body as though he was already there, "before I take off your jeans, belt first and _so slowly_ you'll start making that little noise in the back of your throat that just means you want your cock in my mouth _right now_..." Aiba let his description trail off and Sho just swallowed, cursing the day he ever let Aiba know he was completely weak against dirty talk. (Although, not really, because that was a _really_ enjoyable evening.)

Sho found it difficult to collect any sort of thoughts, let alone coherent ones, but after a few seconds he managed to just nod, relaxing his fingers over Aiba's wrists. And then, as Sho tried to recover from the images Aiba had conjured, Aiba moved quickly, slathering both hands with ink from the brush before he put it down on the newspaper. Before Sho could realize what had happened, Aiba reached up and pressed a dark handprint to the back of Sho's neck, the other hand sneaking beneath his shirt and trailing circular patterns beneath the material.

The slick feeling of ink all over his skin would probably have bothered Sho at any other time (this was a good shirt, and he didn't really want to have to shower before he left), but the ink was forgotten as Aiba leaned up into another kiss, this one harder, more purposeful and demanding, the fingers at the back of Sho's neck pulling them closer. Aiba's fingers shifted quickly, skidding across skin but still undoubtedly marking it in the dark ink, one hand unbuttoning Sho's shirt dexterously as the other wound around his back, one finger marking a scandalous trail down past the base of his spine, dipping beneath his underwear and disappearing between the cheeks of his ass.

It wasn't fair, Sho thought to himself as he felt a shiver roll through his limbs, that Aiba could pretend to teach him calligraphy and then plunder all his senses at once, leaving him virtually helpless against the onslaught. It was a challenge, though, so Sho pulled every scrap of self-control he still possessed and put his hands to better use than feebly propping him up. Leaving one to hold his weight as he leaned into the kiss, Sho let his other hand tug up Aiba's shirt, fingers skirting around the waistband of his jeans and fiddling with the button.

Aiba's breathing hitched and Sho felt victorious, though he probably shouldn't have. Aiba was good with his words when it came to describing the dirty things he would do, but he was hopeless against any action. Plans would fly out the window as soon as Sho got below his navel, and while the first few times it had been frustrating, Sho had learned that it was usually better to distract Aiba early on - not only would the letdown be easier to cope with, but Aiba invariably came up with better ideas after clearing his mind. So Sho didn't mind the way Aiba's hands seemed to still, the fact he had to take over the kiss, because he knew the payoff would be worth it.

Sho was thankful, most of the time, that Aiba was so easy to manipulate in bed (or on the living room floor as the case may be). It meant that he could draw out or speed up anything he wanted to. It helped, of course, that he knew exactly what buttons to push and when to push them and what every hitched breath and quick exhale meant, but that was just the product of extensive study. And he was a good student, so he knew exactly how to get an A, even if it was no effort at all.

For a moment (spent kissing a trail across Aiba's jawline - a particular favorite curve of his), Sho couldn't decide how to proceed. The moment had been at once quick and slow, demanding and light, and there were so few markers to let him know what was expected. Of course, with the noises in the back of Aiba's throat, Sho was pretty sure he could do whatever he wanted.

So he did; Sho moved quickly, rushing the removal of Aiba's t-shirt so that it ended up just bunched up beneath his arms, his mouth moving lower as though it was some kind of race. Having already made hasty work of undoing Aiba's jeans, Sho grabbed hold of his underwear, tugged them and the jeans down roughly in one quick movement. He traced his tongue in a trail down from Aiba's navel until it tangled with coarse hair, a sensation that always sent a shiver down his spine because it reminded him what's about to happen.

It reminded Aiba, too, and he gasped, an obvious sign that he was trying to hold back from taking a handful of Sho's hair and forcing him to do exactly what he wanted. (Which had happened before, and wasn't so bad, but Sho would prefer not to trigger his gag reflex if he could help it.) Sho doesn't waste any time, though, tracing one finger along Aiba's newly-exposed inner thigh as his other hand stills over Aiba's hips, firmly pressing them against the floor. Preparations over and he leaned in, tongue flat as he dragged it mercilessly slowly over the head of Aiba's cock, reveling in the reaction he received. Aiba shivered first, then swallowed, trying to catch the noise that squeaked at first and then groaned its way out of his throat, his hips straining against Sho's hands.

There was nothing easier - and nothing more rewarding for Sho - than giving Aiba a blow job. Not only was it incredibly easy to get Aiba off, but there was just something in the guttural moans and throaty noises coupled with the boy's breathy voice saying his name that made Sho want to go first. It turned him on more than it probably should have, just knowing that it was _he_ who elicited such reactions, but he'd stopped caring about the decency of it long ago.

Instead, he focused on the task at hand: fingers splayed over Aiba's sensitive hipbones, suckling Aiba's cock at first and then taking him into his mouth slowly, inch by inch, until he started to worry that Aiba didn't have the lung capacity to breathe anymore (well, he worried once, and then just realized it meant he was close). Then, with Aiba sufficiently gasping and writhing beneath him, he let his fingers curve gently around his balls, feeling his own cock jump at the sensation of the soft, sensitive skin in his palm, and it was almost over.

The noises were incoherent at first, gasps and syllables that didn't mean anything, before Aiba started to scramble, his knees knocking Sho in the ribs as his heels searched for traction, his fingers wildly scratching at the smooth hardwood floor beneath him, hips unsure which way to thrust anymore and it makes Sho want to smile. The pure, unadulterated abandon of Aiba gearing up for an orgasm was just about the most natural thing in the world, something to be savored, and this time (more common than not), Sho opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of Aiba's flushed cheeks and slack jaw, wanton and uninhibited for mere seconds before he moved to finish it.

It was easy - tilt his head to the correct angle, squeeze his eyes shut just tight enough to push back his gag reflex, and swallow as much of his mouthful as he could. It always worked, and this time was no different. Aiba arched his back, breath caught in the back of his throat, and let a loud, throaty moan escape his mouth as his orgasm coursed through him. Sho could practically feel it beneath his fingers, Aiba's heart was beating so fast and hard. It only urged him to eagerly swallow every last drop, slowly backing off a few moments later as things returned to normal - heart rates and breathing slowed, while heat radiated from Aiba's skin as his body attempted to return to itself.

Aiba's brain always took those few extra moments to return to him, and Sho couldn't help but watch as it happened, Aiba's face inches from his own as he swallowed hard, blinked his eyes open and processed the world as it unfolded before him. The grin on Aiba's face was giddy with afterglow, which only made Sho match the grin and lean in to catch Aiba's mouth in a hot, unmistakably wet kiss. It was difficult to restrain himself from insisting it was his turn now as Aiba mumbled "I love after-kisses" into his mouth, but Sho managed by deepening the kiss and thrusting his hips not-so subtly against the other boy's hips.

With Aiba, Sho didn't need to be subtle. He could be, of course, and Aiba would always understand, but there was a certain point at which there seemed to be no point in masking his desire. Aiba always knew what he wanted anyway, and so as much as asking explicitly was relegated to foreplay and dirty talk, it also usually didn't take more than a hint to let Aiba know exactly what he wanted. Sho moved against him for a second time, pushing his hips down into Aiba's thigh and letting the friction steal a gasp from his throat. Aiba just giggled breathlessly.

"Impatient," he muttered, though there was a smile on his lips. Sho didn't much care, though, as the next moment there were hands clamped on his shoulders and he'd been pushed back to the ground. He caught himself with the heels of his palms, sitting upright as Aiba moved out from beneath him, settling easily between his legs. This mightn't have been the first time, but Sho couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as Aiba's hands made quick work of his clothes.

Aiba wasn't usually methodical, but there was always a pattern to the way he removed Sho's clothing, and it belied what was coming next: shirt off first meant Aiba would skip the foreplay and go directly south without distraction, while a lingering play with the waistband meant he was in it for the long haul. This time, Sho's shirt was removed first, followed quickly by his jeans (in their entirety; Sho was never allowed a stitch of clothing on him), but it was only once Aiba leaned up for a kiss and wrapped his fingers around Sho's excruciatingly hard cock that Sho remembered there was something askew.

"Aiba, your hands..." Sho mumbled into the kiss, though his heart wasn't really in the protest. Aiba just grinned against his mouth, teeth tugging on his lower lip, and somehow in the onslaught to his senses, Sho couldn't find the energy to care about ink stains.

Sho couldn't quite ignore the ink, though; it gave an interesting slippery feeling to Aiba's fingers as they moved (far too) slowly over his cock, the consistency of which changed as it mixed with pre-come, and Sho couldn't help but focus on it. He closed his eyes beneath another insistent kiss, locking his elbows so that he didn't collapse as the sensations built up a familiar, warm tension just below his belly button. His mind would have gone blank, but he was concentrating on the sticky-slippery-wet touch so much that it barely even registered when Aiba broke the kiss.

Before Sho had even opened his eyes, though, Aiba had already changed tactics, knocking Sho's arms out from under him and nudging him over onto his stomach. The whole thing happened in a blur, Aiba moving quickly and single-mindedly, and the dizzy feeling made Sho feel as though he was drunk. (It would have explained a lot.) He tried to protest, to regain any footing he might have had in this, but Aiba's hand was planted firmly between his shoulder blades so there was no way of getting up. Aiba's other hand, mercifully, had tugged Sho's hips from the ground just enough to reach around his waist and continue his long, slow strokes. It felt slightly acrobatic, and Sho hoped Aiba would remember he was not that flexible, but it didn't matter so much as he felt Aiba lean closer, settling between his legs with a very obvious erection prodding his backside.

Sho stilled as Aiba's plan became clear to him, his fingers flat on the hardwood floor beneath him searching out grooves for him to dig his nails into, and he closed his eyes again to block out every other sense he had so he could focus on Aiba's touch. Aiba released the pressure on his shoulder blades first, fingertips resting just lightly over his back for a moment before running a slow, winding path across his shoulders. A shiver ran down his spine as Aiba removed his fingers entirely, but he shuddered physically as a lone finger returned to the middle of his back, ink mixing with a light sweat and Sho knew what Aiba was going to do almost before he moved his finger. He'd played this game as a child - a study game for learning kanji - but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to learn kanji this time.

Sho tried to concentrate on the movement of Aiba's finger to try to figure out what he was writing; however, not only was it a difficult task made more challenging with the distraction of a lazy hand job, but Aiba was writing too slowly for his attention to last until the characters were finished. The light touch was too distracting, so by the time Aiba had finished the second character in what was surely a poem of epic proportion, he couldn't pay attention to anything save the way his cock twitched in Aiba's hand every time the finger left or returned to his back.

"Aiba, please-" Sho managed to protest eventually, though his voice sounded so strained he wondered if Aiba would even understand the words. Of course, words were not the issue, and he could hear Aiba laugh quietly to himself before quickly he quickly scribbled the rest of his masterpiece, finger trailing down past the base of Sho's spine. Sho gasped as Aiba ran his finger teasingly over his hole, hips involuntarily pushing back into the contact as his own fingers scrambled for more traction, something to hold onto as the waves of arousal crashed down over him.

Aiba wasn't in a hurry, though, and just when Sho was convinced his skin was on fire and he was about to plead again, his moved back. He moved his hands to Sho's hips, pulling him up off the ground even more, and if Sho could have fought past the buzzing feeling in his skin, he would have been able to figure out what Aiba had planned. Instead, all Sho could do was mumble a confused "Aiba, what are you doing?" just seconds before the question was answered for him.

Aiba's tongue traced the path of his finger, starting at the base of Sho's spine and working its way down to the ring of nerve endings which Sho was positive were already on fire, the tip of his tongue working past the muscle slowly. It was already difficult for Sho to contain himself, every inch of his body seemed to vibrate with the need for more, but it seemed impossible as Aiba's skilled tongue worked to stretch him, slowly and gently so that it somehow managed to relax him. Even if his breathing was erratic, his heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode, and his limbs were trembling, Sho was very much aware of how absolutely ready he was for Aiba to just fuck him already.

Luckily, Aiba could tell even with his eyes closed that Sho was more than ready, so he moved away - slowly, so Sho wouldn't feel the absence so acutely - to do the practical things like removing the rest of his clothes, fishing out a condom from his wallet, and finding something to use for lubrication. By this point, though, Sho had little patience for anything that wasn't sex, and the noises in the back of his throat changed from quiet whimpers of desire to deep, throaty sounds of need. He remained where he was, though, clenching and unclenching his fists, the sounds of clothes and latex making his cock impossibly harder as he waited for what seemed like an interminable amount of time.

Aiba returned before Sho could decide to forget the sex and just jerk off, though, leaning over the length of Sho's back, hands on his waist and his erection pressed teasingly between his cheeks, to whisper in Sho's ear. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he breathed, though Sho couldn't hear an apology anywhere in his voice. "Shall I?" Sho thought the accompanying roll of his hips was completely unnecessary.

"If you don't," Sho managed to grit out between clenched teeth, "I'll fucking kill you." The statement only elicited a laugh from Aiba, which Sho would have protested as well if Aiba hadn't moved quickly to position himself. He moved slowly after that, fingernails gripping into Sho's hips as he penetrated him with excruciatingly careful movements. The slow burning sensation was infuriating, but Sho knew from experience that rushing this would not make things better, so he endured it, concentrating on breathing through the pricks of pain that only served to put an even sharper edge on his desire.

Eventually, Aiba stopped, and in the brief moment before he began to move, Sho couldn't help but dwell on the feeling he had of being full. This feeling struck Sho at the same moment every single time, and it didn't matter how many times they did it, the feeling was always overwhelming enough for him to feel a rush of heat to his cheeks and the hot prick of tears behind his eyelids. He didn't cry, though, because before the emotion could rise to that point, Aiba had started moving in slow but staccato thrusts, effectively erasing any thoughts Sho might have been having.

It didn't take long for Aiba to pick up the pace, though, and as his movements got faster, Sho could feel the tension all over his body, tight in his chest and over his shoulders and pooling right below his navel. His own erection, which Aiba was probably right to leave for the moment, felt strained and it might have been uncomfortable had he not been so thoroughly distracted by the way his head seemed to spin every time Aiba thrust himself in to the hilt. Sho felt dizzy, intoxicated almost, and completely unable to control the noises escaping him that unmistakably signaled that - with or without a hand from Aiba - the end was near for him.

No matter how lost in the moment Aiba was, though, he always responded to Sho, and this was no different. Without breaking stride even for a moment, Aiba slid one hand around Sho's waist and wrapped his fingers firmly but gently around his straining erection. The sensation made Sho buck his hips forward at first, and then back in exactly the right timing to meet Aiba's thrusts, and his mind was so blissfully blank he didn't notice for a moment that Aiba had faltered in his movements. Sho did, however, notice when Aiba pushed in one last time, fingers gripping onto his hips tightly, and orgasmed, a low moan escaping him that seemed to echo through the room.

Aiba collapsed, limbless onto Sho's back, cheek pressed right between his shoulder blades so that his hair and breath tickled Sho's hot, sweat-slick skin, propping himself up with one hand while setting the other at a surprisingly quick rhythm to jerk Sho off. Without any time to be surprised that Aiba was functioning at all, Sho felt a spike of tension along his spine, catching his breath in his throat and making his body feel as though it was stalling, his nerve endings moving faster than he had time to process. It was through this fumbling, rushed sort of haze that Sho found himself tripping, stumbling, and then falling over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him.

Everything was blank for a moment, and Sho wasn't quite sure how, moments later, he came to be lying on the hardwood floor, pressed up against Aiba who was lying on his back. Sho blinked up at the other boy, confused for a moment over the lost time, before he noticed the black smudges on Aiba's cheek. "What the -" but Sho cut himself off, realizing exactly where the smudges came from and he leaned away from Aiba for a moment to take stock of the damage. Aiba just grinned and looked pleased with himself.

There were black marks all over Aiba's body: his hands were just tinted black from spreading the ink, but there were random patterns over his torso, a backwards print of whatever he had written on Sho's back, along with flecks and dots scattered over his arms and thighs - collateral damage from incidental touches, Sho assumed. Sho himself, of course, was no better, with marks everywhere Aiba had touched him: the brush marks on his collarbones, circles over his abdomen, fingerprints on his waist and hips, but of course the worst (that he could see; Sho didn't want to think about his back) was the black mess Aiba had made of his penis.

Aiba giggled, and Sho stared at himself a moment.

"Aiba, this is by far the weirdest thing you have ever done," Sho said after a moment, but the laugh that escaped Aiba suggested something else. He looked over at Aiba, who just grinned mysteriously for a moment.

"I think you might change your mind when you see what I used for lube," Aiba said, and a pang of horror shot straight to Sho's heart before Aiba produced the condom he had already removed. It was just as black as everything else, and Sho scrambled to his feet in a moment of utter panic.

"Aiba, I'm going to kill you!" Sho screamed, rubbing his arms briskly as his skin felt as though it was crawling. "That's disgusting!"

"It's not that bad," Aiba protested as he sat up, smile still on his lips though Sho didn't see how it was at all funny, "the ink's non-toxic and water soluble."

Somehow, the reassurance that he wasn't going to die of ink poisoning didn't mollify Sho, and he just stared at Aiba for a few seconds before shaking his head. "I'm going to kill you," he reiterated, steadily this time, and the smile on Aiba's face faltered a little. "But first, I'm going to take a bath."

Aiba stood up then, the smile reappearing. "Can I join you?"

"Only if you're not afraid of drowning," Sho replied, but the initial anger was starting to dissipate as Aiba grinned at him.

"Ooh, breathplay. Kinky," Aiba replied with a wink.

"I don't know why I put up with you," Sho muttered, shaking his head and turning to leave the living room.

"You put up with me, Sho, because I am a brilliant teacher."


End file.
